


Try Me On

by dontbefancy



Series: Hold the Line Verse [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:28:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontbefancy/pseuds/dontbefancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two OSU boys, one last night before they leave for their second stage in college—NYC. Add one squad leader that has been on the edge of Kurt’s fantasies for two seasons.</p><p>On the field, he’s Starchild. Off the field, he’s simply Elliott.</p><p>On the dance floor? He’s a player in what might become the hottest night of Kurt and Blaine’s life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try Me On

"Go on. You know you want to." Blaine takes a step closer to Kurt and walks his fingers around his waist to pull him back even tighter. "You've been watching him all night."

The heat is sharp in the middle of the dance floor, strobe and multi-colored lights flashing off of Kurt's faces, illuminating his clothes with a confetti of colors. Hot, beautiful bodies writhe around them, touch them. The beat of the driving bass gives rhythm as Blaine grinds his crotch to Kurt's ass.

"I have—" Kurt's breath stutters as Blaine swirls his hips in even closer. "I have not."

"You have. It's hot." Blaine runs his tongue along the shell of Kurt's ear and whispers, " _He's_ hot," and slips his thumb into Kurt's waistband, his hips not losing a beat against Kurt's ass. "You've been curious since the day you met him."

" _Blaine..._ " Kurt reaches his arm back around and grapples at Blaine's shirt. He stretches his neck as if to beg for Blaine's lips. 

As if he _needs_ to beg for Blaine's lips on his neck. 

Blaine obliges and dots tongue-led kisses to his salty skin, "It's our last night out before we leave. Go." He nips at his ear lobe. "No regrets."

Kurt finally turns around, determination and arousal etched into his face, darkening his eyes. To Blaine, it's the most beautiful version of Kurt. "How far?"

Blaine grins, taking the kiss Kurt offers, letting Kurt suck his bottom lip into his hot mouth. Their breath heats the already-sweltering air between them and Blaine slips his hand between them to cup Kurt in his palm, staking his claim. Kurt's cock begins to harden under his fingers and Blaine practically growls. "I trust you."

Kurt gasps and pushes harder into Blaine's hand. " _Maynard..._ "

Blaine squeezes before letting go and rakes his hand up Kurt's chest. He hooks his finger into the loose, droopy collar of Kurt's shirt to kiss along the peeking edge of his collar bone. "And then, you come home with me."

"Fuck, yes." Kurt pulls Blaine in closer by his ass and nips at the skin under his ear, his breath hot on Blaine's skin. "You're going to watch?"

"I wouldn't miss it." Blaine takes him in a wet, sloppy kiss, pushing Kurt back a little when he tries to slip his thigh between Blaine's legs. "Go on or you'll never do it." 

Kurt smiles and kisses the tip of Blaine's nosebefore he leaves, working his way across the dance floor. He stops to sway a few beats with random men, touches some, lets others touch him, all with a tossed glance back at Blaine as if to say, "Did you see that? And that one? So hot."

Kurt has no damned idea. That boy, the one they're all pawing at, the one soaking up the adoration is _his_. And no matter how much Kurt flirts with anyone else—he goes home with Blaine.

The power of it is intoxicating.

Elliott, the object of Kurt's lusty gaze, was Kurt's squad leader in the OSU Marching Band—the best kind of leader: a trumpet player who challenges everyone to do better, to work harder, to give one hundred percent no matter how fucking hot and tired you are. To live by the mantra, "Pick up your feet, turn your corners square, and _drive, drive, drive_!" 

But at night, off the field, Elliott transforms from a properly groomed and disciplined marching student into a full-fledged gay bar superstar. With the flair of Wonder Woman—one, two, three spins, a flash of light and superhero sparkle—his style suddenly commands your attention, his attitude commands your deepest desires and his dance moves command everything else. Guy-liner and glitter, and this night, an assortment of necklaces drape over his bare chest. Sequins trace the lines of his open-necked shirt and point to the crotch of his pants, the closure of which is laced like a corset. 

Elliott struts, moving like a rushing river: powerful, fluid, cutting ruts in the terrain of the club with flash and flair, stardust and sensuality.

Blaine never met anyone like Elliott: comfortable in his own skin, comfortable in whatever hat he wears for whatever role he plays. It's enviable and enticing, and while Blaine's curious, Kurt has been particularly captivated by Elliott's allure.

But tonight, it all comes to a head as Blaine and Kurt sink into the trance of Axis nightclub. Writhing, hot, beautiful, gay boys, combined with the knowledge that this will be the last chance to act on their whispered desires. Their days with the marching band are over—the hierarchy of squad leader to squad member is removed. 

Blaine sways mindlessly in the crowd and Elliott looks up as Kurt approaches. A huge grin lights up Elliott's face, stippled with flashing color—a spotlight beaming on him as if a guiding Kurt's way. Kurt says something and Elliott throws his head back in laughter, taking a sip of his drink before pointing the stir straw to Kurt's mouth. Kurt takes a sip and speaks words Blaine cannot hear. 

Just as Elliott's eyebrows lift in curious interest, Blaine feels two hands smooth down his chest. When he looks down, he chuckles and leans back against Santana's chest. Her perfectly manicured, bright red nails scratch back up his rib cage. "Hey, lady." 

"Where's your appendage? I'm surprised you're not a gaping wound bleeding all over the floor without him attached to your hip."

Blaine points with his head to Kurt and Elliott casually dancing, testing the waters with a touch, a look, a spin. "He's off seducing the teacher at the moment."

"Ohhh my god. Look at that. He's been wanting a slice of that since—"

"Yeah, I know. Had I realized how fucking hot it would be, I'd have said something sooner." 

As Blaine and Santana continue to watch, Elliott slides his hand around Kurt's waist and pulls him in. He whispers something into Kurt's ear as Kurt drapes his arms over Elliott's shoulders and moves with the music and the pulsing rhythm of Elliott's body. Kurt throws his head back as Elliott dares to nuzzle into the heat of his neck. 

Blaine emits a moan and Santana cackles. "Maynard... you're a little voyeur!"

"Shut up."

Elliott looks up and catches Blaine's eye, a smile giving way as swirls his hips and grips Kurt's to move right along with him. He cocks an eyebrow as if asking Blaine for permission. 

Blaine tastes at his bottom lip and nods.

"Come on, May. There's a couch over here with prime viewing. My feet are killing me."

**~~~**~~~**

Elliott knows Kurt is off-limits. It isn't even that he's wanted for him, not necessarily. His first impression was that he was cute in that twink-y sort of way, but as the two years stretched before them, Elliott couldn't deny Kurt was downright gorgeous. He witnessed the metamorphosis as Kurt shed the small-town insecurities and came into himself as a confident, solid leader, quick-witted and loyal—especially to that other boy always at his side. 

Blaine. It took him forever to think him anything other than "Maynard," a perfect nickname for such a talent, as much as Elliott regretted admitting it—his range was enviable. 

Blaine's a nice enough kid. Sweet even. Funny and sincere and so very very much in love with Kurt that even if Elliott _were_ to want Kurt, he wouldn't dare. Kiki and Maynard are inseparable.

Well, except for the two weeks they weren't. 

They both auditioned for trumpet cheers, neither made it and really, it was ridiculous that as freshmen either of them even tried. But they did and Kurt gloriously pouted at Blaine's "betrayal" and Blaine relentlessly poked "to make Kurt work harder," and Elliott spent those two weeks wanting to drop kick them both into the Olentangy River. 

Which is to say, when they aren't inseparable, they need to be because while each of them work very well independently, they are their absolute best when an integral part of each other's life. 

So, Kiki. Hot, peculiarly alluring, increasingly confident and sexy but never, not ever on Elliott's radar. 

And yet, Kiki moves before him with a look of playfulness, of sultry desire and a sway to his hips that says nothing other than, "You want this." 

What Kurt really says, his voice low and raspy, is, "Wanna dance?"

So yeah, in this moment, Elliott wants. 

He greases the wheels with another good swallow of his drink and scoops Kurt close. They move in rhythm, Kurt's thin frame tucking perfectly into Elliott's arm, his eyes dazzling and tinged with just enough nervousness to remind Elliott that this is for fun, not for keeps.

Which makes it all the more delicious.

He dips to Kurt's neck and Kurt pulls him in closer, the rumble of a moan encouraging him to press his lips there on the pale, sweat-dampened skin. As he kisses, he looks up and catches Blaine's eyes. "Your boy is looking. You sure this is cool?"

"He's not looking." Kurt steps back and hooks his fingers into the long chains and pendents that sway against Elliott's bare chest, his eyes burning heat into Elliott's skin. "He's _watching._ "

"Oh. Well, then." 

Elliott takes Kurt by the hand and drags him up to a platform and just as Kurt lands, the music comes to a dramatic 4-beat pause and the dance floor and flashing lights freeze. Their eyes lock and wait. The smirk on Kurt's face almost makes Elliott forget their audience, their unspoken agreement—for fun, not for keeps. 

With a flash of the strobe, the music pulses hard through the room again, arms up, bodies writhe, hollers and whoops shout from the balcony and floor, a spinning whirlwind of sound. 

They dance on the platform, hip-y and loose, closer and closer until Elliott snakes his hand around Kurt's waist again and pulls him in, crotch to crotch as they undulate to the pulsing beat. 

Kurt's eyes never leave Elliott's; he smirks and brings a finger to his lips and taps, kissing the tip of his own finger.

A smile curls at Elliott's lips as he wraps his hand around the back of Kurt's neck and pulls him in for a scorching kiss, off-center and a little obscene. Elliott tastes at Kurt, forbidden sweet, sucking on his tongue as he feels Kurt's hands slip from his waist down his ass, pulling him in. 

They break, loud and wet, heard only by them as they smile and pant, their bodies moving together with a magnetic pull. Maybe it's a lot obscene. "Kiki... you little tart."

Kurt closes his eyes and shakes his head with a chuckle. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Bullshit." Elliott kisses him gently, dragging a finger down his cheek, adding a shimmer of glitter to Kurt's sticky skin. "Turn around. Put on a show for him, sweetheart."

He spins Kurt around, snaking a hand around him and up his chest to keep his body close. The silky fabrics of their shirts cling to their sweaty skin and outline every muscle, every valley that begs to be traced with Elliott's fingers. 

Kurt lets his head fall back onto Elliott's shoulder, stretching his neck out for him as Elliott had watched him do for Blaine earlier—and time and again on the field after long rehearsals. _"So hot. Cold cloth?"_ Blaine would have one at the ready, pressing the cloth then his lips to the sweaty skin again and again, an intimacy with 225 other people standing around surviving the summer's heat. 

_Somebody wants to hear you say  
Ooh somebody loves you  
Ooh somebody loves you_

Elliott sings the lyrics of the current track into his ear _,_ grinding into Kurt's ass, his eyes on Blaine, who is seated on the couch next to their friend, draped open and inviting. He has one arm looped back around her neck, the other resting on his own thigh, fingers twitching for something. "Look at him over there. You make him want to touch himself." 

"I _do_ make him touch himself." 

"Fuck..." Elliott slides his hand down Kurt's belly and hips, close to, but not breaching the trust these two boys have given him. 

Kurt hisses, moves his hips toward the heat of Elliott's hand. "You—you can... tonight."

"No. That's for you two." But the teasing continues, a sultry dance from the platform to the couch, touch and temptation, pulse and heat. Blaine's lips part and his fingers inch closer to cupping himself, to relieve the pressure, his eyes on Kurt and only Kurt. "Look what you do to him."

Kurt twists back and kisses Elliott again, dirty and wet, and Elliott can't believe little Kiki is coming undone, on display for all to see. He's hard against Kurt's ass and feels the pull of fabric in Kurt's pants too. He closes his eyes and wants to touch, but doesn't dare, unwilling to break what these boys have so perfectly built together.

"Care for a threesome?" 

Elliott can't remember her name, but their friend has joined them on the platform, rounded ass pressed back to Kurt's crotch, as Kurt slips his hands around her tiny waist and nuzzles into the thick of her long black hair. 

They dance with Kurt in the middle, swaying, pulsing, writhing effortlessly as the music pounds around them, the lights a rhythmic flash when Kurt turns to face Elliott and twists back to his friend to steal teasing, friendly kisses from her, and another wet, tongue-heavy kiss from Elliott. Six hands everywhere, a show for the boy on the couch who has finally pressed his hand to his fly, his head snapping back and breaking eye contact for the first time.

Elliott turns Kurt to face Blaine again and giggles in Kurt's ear. "You're going to have a good night when you get home."

Elliott invites Blaine to join them with a crook of his finger, but Blaine shakes his head. He pats the seat next to him and sends a kiss through the pulsating air. 

**~~~**~~~**

"Come with me?"

It is a question because as confident as Kurt is pretending to be, is beginning to feel, he's still a bundle of nerves concerned that he's making a first class ass of himself. But Elliott's played along from the first glance and Kurt isn't quite done with this game yet. He wants to taste Elliott at least one more time. 

Only this time with Blaine's breath in his ear urging him on—the tastes of sin and virtue melding in perfect harmonious fusion.

After sharing a quick kiss in greeting, Kurt splays himself backwards on the couch across Blaine and Santana's laps. Elliott sits on the back rest and they all sink under the spell of the driving beat, the constant thrust of surrounding bodies, of the club. Kurt is lost to the music, his arms in rhythmic motion and he grasps back and catches Santana's knee with his left hand. His right hand is up and reaching. He makes contact with Elliot and— _oh. Oh god._

That is Elliott's dick. Kurt trails his hand down Elliott's thigh and flashes a glance up at him. He's met with a raised eyebrow and a laugh. "Careful, Kiki."

Kurt laughs and closes his eyes. The smell of sweat and booze, various colognes and perfumes a heady mix to the constant sensation of touch, touch, touch. Santana's silky smooth legs move under his neck and the softness of her breasts pillow his cheek, and if he turns just right, even his mouth. With all the times he's had the opportunity, tonight he takes it and traces his tongue along the edge of her plunging neckline earning him a sultry moan of his name and a tug at his hair.

"Kurt... fuck." Blaine leans down for a kiss, awkward and far-reaching right in Santana's lap. His taste mixes in Kurt's mouth with Elliott's, swirls around the bite of Santana's perfume on his tongue. It's all too much, too exquisite, too erotic. And while the soft allure of Santana's body seduces him, the memory of Elliott's arms around him, strong and in command still prickles at his skin, all he wants now is to get Blaine home. 

To unleash all that's built up with Blaine and Blaine alone.

Blaine's hand drags against Kurt's back and pauses, his mouth open in a ridiculous grin as he catches Kurt's gaze. His eyes are dark with want and his hips tilt to his own hand, to Kurt's back, seeking, chasing. Kurt traces his finger along Blaine's bottom lip, smiling when Blaine gently bites down on it. "That feel good? Do you feel good?"

"It'd feel better if it was you."

Kurt looks to Elliott who, even with a hand caressing up Kurt's thigh, is lost to the crowd, still present, but obviously aware his role in this party is about over. Santana is making out with a redhead who'd draped herself across her shoulder as if she knows her. Maybe she does. 

Maybe Kurt doesn't care. 

Blaine eyes the exit and that's Kurt's cue. He pulls Elliott's hand from his hip and kisses the tips of his fingers to get his attention. Elliott smiles like the kid about to pull the funniest prank. "Pull me up, Star." 

Elliott clasps Kurt's hand and lifts him off the couch, spinning around so his legs hang off the back of it. He drags Kurt around with him and Kurt tugs Blaine closely behind. 

And when Kurt stares up at Elliott, their fingers still entwined, he suddenly blushes as if Elliott is his superior again, and Kurt is sweaty and nervous before the first band rehearsal. "Th—thanks for the um... "

Elliott wraps a leg around Kurt's calves and pulls him in and kisses him hard, lewd, open-mouthed. He slips his tongue into Kurt's mouth and Kurt sucks on it, taking every last touch and taste home with him, every last blue-eyed stare, leaving the nervous rookie band geek gasping for air on the floor of the nightclub.

The kiss breaks and Blaine has his head on Kurt's shoulder, pawing at him desperately, blindly, drunk on seduction and desire and Kurt needs to get home with him. Now.

"I'll call, Kiki. If I ever get there—"

"When. _When_ you get to New York. It needs you."

"When. Okay, when. Now go home and take care of your man." Elliott chuckles at Blaine's doped out expression and cups his hand under Kurt's chin, bringing him in for one last kiss. "Thank you, by the way. I can't say I haven't always wondered."

"Yeah. It was, uh... fun." Kurt looks at Elliott's mouth one more time, sneaks in one more kiss, and whispers a final _thank you_ across his lips.

Elliott grins and slips off of the couch with a wave as he struts into the depth of the dance floor, hands in the air welcoming the touch of everyone he shimmies by. Kurt makes to say something to Santana, but she's gone as well, lost in the sea of people. 

Blaine steps in front of Kurt and nips at Kurt's chin. He stares up at Kurt, his eyes dark and penetrating, bringing Kurt right back to where he needs to be. "Take me home, Kiki."

Home, yes. Home is good. Because while the idea of Blaine bending him over a toilet in the stall of the nightclub bathroom is hardly unheard of, and while Kurt just wants Blaine now, hard and fast and immediate, he'd much prefer it in the privacy of their apartment.

They grab a bus that is only a short wait away after they stumble out of the club. Six stops. Surely they can make it home. 

Except Blaine is so turned on, he's drunk with it, insisting they stand for the short ride. 

"No. Up here. I want to feel all of you."

" _Blaine..._ "

But Kurt stands and ignores the amused look from the guy sitting a few seats behind them. Blaine curls himself into Kurt as much as he can while still hanging onto the vertical grab bar. "So that? That was fucking hot."

Kurt side-eyes their traveling companion, thinks _fuck it_ , and kisses Blaine hard and wet. They spin around the bar with the force of it until Kurt pulls back with a chuckle and a fib. "It was just a dance."

"That was not—" Blaine hisses as Kurt slips his hand into Blaine's back pocket and squeezes his ass. "That was _not_ just a dance and you know it." 

Kurt laughs and Blaine kisses him again, full of tongue and chase. "Tell me," he stops to check on their neighbor and their progress up High St.

Kurt smiles and waits for him to finish. He takes him in, his sweat-dampened curls framing his face, the dance and light in his eyes as if the strobe from the club follows them home. He's the over-eager teenager waiting to dethrone his crown in high school and the sexy, confident man who makes his life sing. "Tell you what?" 

Blaine kisses Kurt up on his tip-toes, smacks and nips and licks and finally takes a breath to ask in a desperate whisper. "What does he taste like?" He dives in again and Kurt can only laugh against his mouth, as they spin in each others' arms loosely draped around the bar, grateful when the bus stops and the staring passenger steps off.

Kurt sweeps his tongue into Blaine's mouth and pulls back before Blaine can finish the kiss. "Can you taste him?" He does it again, sinking his hands into Blaine's curls, kissing him short and soft, a little tongue, a little lip, asking between each peck, "What do you think?" and "Does he taste like sex?" 

Blaine gasps and finally answers, tipping his forehead to Kurt's after one more taste. "It's sweet—like candy."

Kurt laughs again as the bus finally stops at Euclid. They're out, crossing the street, practically jogging to their apartment, stopping only when Blaine tugs on Kurt's wrist for another kiss. "Blaine, inside." He's unable to resist, unwilling really, and they kiss and walk and Blaine tosses out flavor options and Kurt only wants to find his goddamned key.

He does. They fall in Kurt tosses his keys on the small dining table inside the door. "Here." He grabs for Blaine's shirt, but Blaine's whipped it up and over his head before Kurt can find his footing. "Fuck me here."

"Jesus, Kurt..." Blaine makes for his belt and Kurt takes the five steps to their bed in the small studio apartment and flips through the sheets until he unearths the lube from that morning. Blaine's standing—well, more like hopping—like a flamingo trying to untie his shoes, pants open and hanging loose on his hips, his fingers a flurry of uselessness. 

"Keep 'em—" Kurt gets his pants off, his shirt left on and unbuttoned, fabric brushing against his cock with every motion. He leans onto the table on his elbows and lubes his fingers, ready from the foreplay on the dance floor, on the platform, with Blaine's eyes needy and hot on his skin. 

With a look tossed over his shoulder, Kurt runs his fingers down the cleft of his ass, pressing at his rim with a groan. "Keep your shoes on. Keep everything, just... please." 

Blaine looks up and he drops his leg to the floor. His pants drop with it and it would be hilarious if Kurt wasn't so fucking desperate to be filled. To have Blaine all over him, in him, owning him. "Kiki. Fuck. You can't just—" He skitters the few steps to where Kurt is bent, fingering himself, presenting himself, begging with his moans and arched back. 

Blaine lubes his fingers and takes over, pressing two fingers slowly inside the heat of Kurt's ass, his body curled beside him as his dick rubs at Kurt's thigh and hip. Kurt growls and presses his ass back, fucking on his fingers. "One more. Come on. Come _on._ "

Blaine obliges and nips and licks at Kurt's shoulder, twisting his fingers inside, pleasure shooting through Kurt with a snap. "Is this what you were thinking up there? Elliott doing this to you? His lips on your neck while I watch?"

"Blaine... please." Blaine slowly pulls his fingers out and Kurt hears him shift, hears the snap of the cap of lube. He moans deep and long when Blaine runs the tip of his cock along the crack of Kurt's ass. 

"So fucking sexy up there." And then he's spreading Kurt slow and steady, filling him, a leg up on the seat of a dining chair to lift himself just enough. His breath stutters as he adjusts, pushing in deeper with a groan and Kurt almost collapses with the relief of it. "You loved him on you like that."

Kurt pushes back, loving the strength of Blaine's hands hard on his hips, the warmth of his breath on his back and the initial burn giving way to the slick drag of Blaine's cock filling him then retreating, slow and steady. Exquisite. It is exactly what Kurt has wanted since Blaine sent him off to Elliott. _"And then you come home with me."_

Kurt turns to look over his shoulder and Blaine is focused on Kurt's ass. On watching his cock disappear into the soft rounds, into his reddened rim, slick with lube and probably more sweat than Kurt would like to consider. Blaine loves to watch, in the mirror, in the reflection of the shower door. Just the other night, he caught Blaine watching them in the reflection of the television screen, mumbling poetic nonsense about Kurt's body, his hair, his eyes, his arms and skin. About the size and shape of Kurt's cock, the strength of his hands, the heat of his ass and mouth.

Blaine simply admires and Kurt soaks it in as if he is made to be admired. He puts on a show, enjoying the response as Blaine plays to it, strong muscles and deep thrusts. The tongue-led kisses and tender caresses as he worships Kurt's body. And tonight when they add a third, even just for the pre-show warm-up, escalates the intensity of it. 

Kurt rests his head on his arms and can still smells Elliott's cologne on his wrists, recharging the energy from the club. He pushes back now as Blaine works into him, his hands soothing his back and then his mouth when he wraps an arm around Kurt's hips to take hold of his cock and whispers into his ear, "Loved his arms around you, his hands on you. His tongue slipping into your mouth."

"Yes. Loved you watching me. Wanting me." 

Blaine bends to give an awkward, sloppy kiss and the table shakes when he pulls back. He cocks a crooked grin, evil intent etched on his face as if he wants to break Kurt, if not the table. Kurt slams his ass back into him begging for it. 

"Yeah? You want more?"

"Yes—please. Blaine... "

Blaine grabs Kurt's shoulder and speeds up, hard and fast and Kurt gives in to it, into the slap of Blaine's hips against his ass, the sweat-slick of their skin, finally taking himself in his hand, his fist working, chasing the twist in his gut, the twist that's been spinning and tightening from the throbbing bass on the dance floor, to Elliott's mouth on his, Elliott's crotch against his ass as they danced on the platform, the dark need in Blaine's eyes as he palmed himself right there in the view of anyone who dared to look at the cute boy on the couch. 

Stroking and sinking onto Blaine's cock and finally he snaps, his orgasm pulsing through him like a wave, he spurts onto his fist, against the side of the table, onto the floor and before he can catch his breath Blaine thrusts into him one more time and stalls, pulling at his shoulder as he fills him, swearing and shuddering until he curls onto Kurt's back, laughing and breathless. "Holy fuck." 

Kurt laughs with him as Blaine slips out still catching his breath. He wonders where they're going to go from here, half-dressed, dripping with come and no strength to stand. Or desire to stand for that matter. "Holy fuck is right. I can't move."

Blaine laughs again and grabs for a napkin. He hands it to Kurt, apologizing for the scratch of it, but it suffices. They wrestle out of their remaining clothes and tumble to the floor, Blaine straddling Kurt's lap and kissing him as if he hasn't just fucked his brains out only moments before. As if it's the first time he's seen Kurt in weeks and needs to savor him anew. "I'm still trying to," he licks at Kurt's lip, "figure out... "

Kurt cackles now and grasps Blaine's face in his hands with one more soft kiss. "You've wanted him too, haven't you?"

Blaine blushes, naked and spent and sweaty on their "dining room" floor, and nods. "Who wouldn't?"

Kurt could be jealous. Hell, Blaine could have been jealous and this night never would have played out like it did. But he's not. Blaine's not. This thing they have is sure and right and true. And Elliott is... Elliott. And Kurt doesn't know what he tasted like—just that it was good. And maybe like something he wants to try again.

So, with another kiss, he gropes in his pants pocket for his phone and shows it to Blaine as if in explanation.

_To Elliott: So, what were you drinking tonight?_

_To Kurt: Are you implying I was drunk and not in my right mind?_

_To Elliott: No. Actually. It, um. The vote is that... you taste good._

_To Kurt: Ha! I think the bartender called it a Hawaiian mule. Coconut rum mostly. Is Maynard drunk on you now, sweetie?_

_To Elliott: I think we're both a little intoxicated. Promise me you'll come see us in New York._

_To Kurt: How about if I make it my first stop?_

Kurt shows Blaine the exchange and Blaine gasps and bites his lip, his hips rolling on Kurt's lap. "A little anxious, babe?"

"Y—yes. I, um." Blaine groans and blinks as if trying to compose himself when really, Kurt's more than okay with this little display. "You need to say 'goodnight.'"

_To Elliott: I think we'd like that. We'll see you soon then?_

Kurt doesn't even wait for the answer. He tosses his phone up on the table and looks back at Blaine who's already disappeared into his own little fantasy. "Bedroom?"

"Bedroom. And then a run to the liquor store."


End file.
